Snacky Snacky Joy Joy

Until quite recently, I hadn’t eaten anything with ranch since I was about seven years old.

It doesn’t matter how light the taste was, I could taste it in any recipe, and I would get physically ill. Blue cheese, garden veggie, Caesar dressing or dip, I’d eat, but never ranch. Friends teased me about it for years, but I just couldn’t bring myself to consume the stuff.

I used to spend a lot of time at my gram’s house. Whenever my grandpa was out of town, I would stay over and have a slumber party with Gram. We’d stay up late watching TV and reading. I would play Barbie, put puzzles together, and color-all in my favorite chair, a brown leather high back chair with a matching ottoman (this now resides in my home). We would watch Mr. Bean (for Gram), Rainbow Brite (for me), and Wheel of Fortune (for both of us) while Molly, the devil dog–a tiny ball of black and white fluff who ate barbies like they were milk bones, would attack my toys.

The thing about being at Gram’s was that she loved to feed us, all of the cousins. As the oldest cousin within frequent visiting distance, I seem to have gotten the bulk of the snacks and just about anything else I wanted. She always had three different kinds of cereal, a variety of different cheeses (my cousin and I used to fight over who was the bigger “cheese-aholic,”) black olives, and many other snack food that we kids enjoyed.

The better portion of a bag of Ruffles and a container of full fat sour cream with Hidden Valley Ranch seasoning later, I never wanted to eat another thing again. As evident by the fact that I remained a pudgy child, clearly “never eating again” didn’t last, but I certainly wanted nothing to do with ranch, that’s for sure. It too almost two decades to get me to consume ranch. Of course, there was still plenty to snack on at Gram’s house. Man, I loved my grandma.

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